Impasse
by Trish47
Summary: While trying to meditate, Supreme Leader Ren connects with Rey for the first time since their passing moment on Crait. Angsty oneshot. Complete.


**Note: Written for the Reylo FanFiction Anthology's More Than Love Exchange. Originally posted on AO3 along with a smutty fic titled "Called by Distraction" which I won't be posting here because of "the rules."**

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Meditation proved increasingly ineffectual in settling his mind. Thoughts of the past intruded on his quietude, while plans for the future demanded he take prompt, committed action.

Assuming his role as the Supreme Leader of the First Order taxed his already thin temper daily. Snoke's example of instilling order through intimidation and ruling through fear required repeated application. Having to continuously remind his subordinates his authority was as absolute as the late Supreme Leader's left Kylo physically and mentally drained-weaknesses he didn't dare to show. The older generals deferred to him out of a sense of duty; in others, such as General Armitage Hux, Kylo sensed doubt and subversive inclinations.

He relied on his private morning meditations to recoup his energies, though he'd had little success in doing so since his embarrassing performance on Crait. When Kylo was able to push the troubling memories and nagging worries from his mind, his inner eye focused on the stray thread that could either stitch everything together or unravel all he had worked to cultivate: Rey.

The tears she had shed in the throne room while begging him to alter his course lingered in his thoughts no matter how he tried to bury them. Even in his sleep, the hurt and disappointment clouding those hazel eyes during their last interaction haunted him.

As Kylo rose from his cross-legged position and secured the clasp at the throat of his new robes, his heartbeat unexpectedly slowed, each pulse swelling in his ears. The rise and fall of his chest quickened, the influx of oxygen opening up his mind's sensory receptors, preparing to connect with her.

Kylo couldn't fathom why the Force had chosen this moment to reestablish their bond. Could his errant thoughts of the fierce, frustrating desert-rat have influenced the random connection? They hadn't triggered any response in the past week or more, so he couldn't understand what had changed.

He stood, transfixed, as the visualizations of Rey he'd sketched in his mind materialized in front of him, full of color and life.

While his day had only begun, it appeared as if hers was winding down. She stood on the opposite side of the _Millennium Falcon's_ cargo bay bulkhead, next to the storage lockers and repair equipment that looked as rusted as the tin-can of a ship they held together. The space had become her domain if the nest of ratted blankets in the corner or the pile of neatly folded garments placed beside them were any indication.

Kylo supposed the repair bay must feel like home to the scavenger from Jakku.

She'd removed the soft swath of fabric and the quilted vest she typically wore, leaving her in a simple tunic of sand-colored cloth which looked as rough as the element itself. Her cropped pants had been exchanged for loose-fitting ones: they trailed to the floor, brushing the tops of her bare feet. The most notable difference, however, was the exposed skin of her toned arms; her wraps hung, drip-drying from one of the lockers.

Now Kylo understood why she'd requested he put on a cowl. He couldn't find the discipline to look away.

Either she hadn't noticed his arrival or she was deliberately ignoring him. Her feet were spread wide, spine erect, arms balancing her staff in perfect parallel to the floor. With her eyes closed, she swayed forward and back, swinging the staff in a controlled figure eight movement. The motions were meant to stretch her limbs before rest, to wind down after a long day.

Given the chaotic way she fought while engaged in battle, it surprised Kylo to see her move with such elegance and fluidity. He found her captivating in either circumstance.

It stung to see her muscles grow taught when Rey finally realized she had an audience. In a flash, she pivoted and adopted a defensive position: feet planted on the floor, staff raised to the level of his throat, shoulders tensed. The adrenaline flooding her body leached into his as well, sending his heart into overdrive.

That she chose to stand firmly instead of lunging at him gave Kylo a small token of hope. Perhaps their conversation could remain civil.

The daggers in her eyes said otherwise, as did the thoughts which reverberated down from her end of the invisible string tying them together. _Traitor_. _Coward._

Kylo presented the palms of his hands to show her he was unarmed. "I acknowledge my presence for what it is: unwelcome."

His words did nothing to ease the set of her lips or lift the hard glare of her eyes, yet she traded her corrosive labels for a question. _How is this happening?_

For that he had no answer; he only had the truth: "This isn't by my design."

Finally, she spoke aloud, her tone as contemptuous as it was curious. "You haven't tried to find me?"

His eyes narrowed as he considered the question for a long moment, not wishing to lie. Over the past weeks, he'd often thought about reaching out to her, to ask her to reconsider his offer or demand she surrender outright. There were nights when he could think of nothing else except the vision he'd seen when they touched hands. He'd cycled through phases of longing-yearning for what he saw that night to come to pass-and frustration. Sometimes his anger and upset were directed at Rey for refusing to join him; at other times, he internalized those emotions for his rashness, for pressing her into a decision too soon.

Yet, as much as he'd contemplated the idea of reaching out through the Force to find her, Kylo hadn't acted on his desires. "There are more pressing issues that require my attention."

It wasn't a lie, even if it wasn't the whole story.

Rey didn't sound like she believed him. "More important than tracking down the murderer of the late Supreme Leader?"

"Ah, you've heard."

That classified information had already been disseminated to the Resistance cast another shadow over his throne. Someone in his council of generals and commanders-the only group privy to Kylo's account of Snoke's murder and the following battle-had loose lips; whoever had divulged the secret was either careless or a mole. Once his Knights heeded his message to gather, Kylo would set them upon the trail of vermin infesting his military cabinet.

Rey lowered her weapon as he weighed his subordinates' allegiances in his head. The movement of her staff regained his attention.

"I don't blame you," she told him. "Not for that."

Her magnanimity made him feel small, unworthy. Kylo had foisted one of the most infamous murders in the Galaxy on her shoulders in order to save himself, yet she could forgive him of his transgression.

"If it wasn't my neck they were after," Rey continued, "it would be yours."

Kylo wondered if she knew the power she held in making such an astute observation. The buzz of the executioner's laser ax-the last sound he would hear if his act of high treason was revealed-hummed in his ears. It made Kylo shiver to think that all Rey needed to do was deny his claim and spread the disease of doubt among men and women who already regarded him with skepticism.

Black robes pooled around him as he sunk onto a large oil drum, the weight of them sitting heavy on his shoulders. If he couldn't secure his tenuous hold on his new title as Supreme Leader, he'd lose everything. To have suffered this much at the hands of others' expectations-his parents', Luke's, Snoke's-and come away without attaining his desires would be tantamount to losing his head.

To this point, he'd only managed to till the ground that would bring forth his legacy; he had yet to sow the seeds.

Rey's initial alarm at his movement had thinned to concern, though she didn't let him hear it in her voice. "Don't you want to know what I blame you for?"

"The ships," he muttered, staring at the floor. While Rey often mystified him, sometimes her simplicity and straightforwardness humanized her in an endearing way. "They were sent under Hux's orders."

She brushed off his excuse. "That city was filled with innocents."

Calling the port where the _Falcon_ had set down to refuel a city was a lofty term for the miniscule blip on a holomap. Still, if he had sensed that Hux would raze the unguarded port after the rebels' hasty departure, Kylo would have intervened before the order had been executed. Wasted lives were wasted subjects.

"I called them back." The disclosure felt unsatisfactory even to his own ears.

"Not soon enough." Rey's grip on her staff tightened, her knuckles going white. A hard edge cut her words: "Did you issue that command for my benefit?"

Again, she'd trapped him into answering with truths riddled by omissions. He stood, this time to pace as he considered his words.

"I saw no advantage in sending troops to the Outer Rim."

Her eyes narrowed, perhaps trying to peer into his mind to search for his unspoken motivations. Shaking her head, she sent a cascade of vibrations through their connection, as if saying _that doesn't make any sense_.

An eyebrow inclined to question her assessment. "Are you a tactician now too?"

A growl of exasperation preceded her next observation: "The Resistance is weak. Vulnerable."

It didn't take a war strategist to arrive at those conclusions; anyone evaluating the situation would know the Resistance's stop-and-go journey to the far reaches of the Galaxy left them wide open for attack. Kylo had been hard-pressed to justify his order to hold back their forces and impart the importance of taking Rey, his mother, and the other members in alive. More than one throat still bore the marks of his displeasure at being questioned.

Rey pushed again. "You could crush it with one stroke."

Kylo's eyes ignited with challenge, but his features remained impassive. "Is that what you want?"

"No." Her eyes drifted around the repair bay, unable to hold his pointed gaze. "But it's what _you_ want," she said in a faint voice. "It's everything you want."

He lowered his own volume, the confession passing his lips on a murmur. "Not everything."

Almost of its own accord, his hand began to slip past the shell of his robes, reaching for her as it had when he'd presented her with an offer to rule beside him. The movement caught her attention, and her expression turned sour.

"My place is here." Instead of shrinking back from him, Rey planted her staff like a flag, cementing the claim to both her hopeless cause and his father's decrepit ship.

His hand clenched into a fist. "You're quick to form attachments."

The accusation in his voice didn't stir her to violence or retaliation as it may have done in the past. Instead, her eyes grew wide while her tone turned almost wistful. "For once, I feel like I belong to something. I have people who wait for _me_."

His heart buckled at the happiness and contentment in her voice. The small smile creeping at the corners of her mouth and eyes seized the cords of his throat, choking him with the yearning to express an unsettling realization.

Kylo wanted to be the one to evoke such emotions from her.

"What do you belong to, Ben?" she asked quietly, pity replacing the smile on her face. "Who do you go back to?"

Over the course of his time with the First Order, his given name had become a slur in his mind. It connected him to the past he so desperately wished to drown out. Yet, Kylo couldn't bring himself to correct her.

"My aims extend beyond personal affinities," he told her. "I'll sacrifice what I must to bring about a New Order."

One hand came to rest on her hip as the other twisted her staff in place. "Do you believe you can single-handedly change the ambitions of the First Order? That you can shift their ideals to conform to yours?"

She'd clearly been spending time in conversation with his mother-the thought of their closeness sent a stab of jealousy through him. His jaw worked to keep the bitterness out of his reply. "You once believed Skywalker would change the tide of the war."

Her bottom lip pulled up, forming a brief pout on her lips. "You're not like Luke."

Of course he wasn't like his uncle. His uncle had had power and fame; his name had commanded high praise and respect. What had he done with it? Tossed it aside when he was tested, when his plans to secure the future of the Jedi religion had failed miserably. He'd lost everything because of his cowardice.

"Nor do I wish to follow his example," Kylo remarked, stepping forward. "You would be wise to turn from that path, as you were meant to. It isn't too late."

His open invitation sagged between them like ripe fruit hanging from the vine, like the promise of a sweet reward after waiting for the blossom to grow and swell. What he wanted to give her was every star in the Galaxy, the power to satisfy all of her wishes and desires.

"The only thing the First Order can offer me is an execution," Rey said, her head dropping toward her chest.

"I can nullify that edict." He waved his hand through the air as if it were a trifle to do so. He advanced again, halving the small distance between them. "There's nothing for you in the Outer Rim."

Rey's arm came up, placing her palm on his chest to stop him. Kylo could feel the heat of her touch but not the weight of her hand through their bond. He stood still, as requested.

"You don't get it," she said softly. "There are people here I care about. And they care about me."

She finally looked up, craning her neck to read the lines and scars of his face. Her eyes brimmed with tears. "They care about you too."

Kylo could taste her sympathy like acid on his tongue. He swallowed harshly, his mouth suddenly dry. She spoke of his mother, of course. In the few moments their energies had crossed, Kylo knew that Leia still cared for him. But the other members of the Resistance? He doubted they harbored much affection for the masked terror of the First Order. Who else would count themselves among his supporters?

Something inside of him whispered the obvious answer. _Rey_.

It didn't matter. "I can't go back," he claimed. "Not after everything I've done."

"Please. . ." she trailed off, fighting the emotion in her voice. "Don't force me to be your enemy."

"You made that decision on the _Supremacy_ ," he reminded her, unwilling to release her from that guilt. He'd wanted her on his side, yet she'd turned him down. "I've walked this path for many years. Your choice to stand by the Resistance is nothing except a dead end taken in ignorance."

Rey shook her head, sending rivulets of water down her cheeks. "What now?"

She sounded lost. Kylo had to remind himself that she'd been dragged into a war with little preparation or knowledge of what to expect between battles. Their unusual connection through the Force didn't help uncomplicate matters.

He breathed deeply. "It seems we've reached an impasse."

Tears still stained her hazel eyes, but she'd regained control. There was no anger between them now, no sense of betrayal. The air between them grew dense with separation and loss. With each breath, the hurt became more tangible. It was a pain which could quickly fester, but it could also easily heal.

His hand raised to wipe the trails of water from her cheeks; Rey didn't pull away. Though he hadn't come to tears himself, Kylo's voice sounded thick. "This is only an impediment. We will meet again."

"One of us _will_ turn."

"One of us _must_ turn," he corrected gently. Any alternative would result in death; he needed her to understand that. "This war will end as all others do: with one victor and one vanquished."

In the silence that followed his statement, they could both feel the bond begin to fade. The disconnect always felt like sinking into the waters of a cold lake, inch by inch; by the end of it, they'd both be trembling.

"May the Force be with you."

Again, his mother's influence coated her words. Leia had been the last person to bid him the traditional farewell. Until now.

Kylo slid his hand beneath the one she still held against his chest, curling her fingertips slightly in his grip. He lowered his head, his lips whispering along her knuckles in the lightest of kisses.

"And you," he returned.

By the time he straightened his neck, he stood alone once more. He could still taste the salt of her skin.


End file.
